


Bold As Fire

by shadows_of_1832 (SaoirseVictoire)



Series: Ice and Fire [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, prompt 5: miracle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21912025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/pseuds/shadows_of_1832
Summary: “If you keep doing that, this entire floor will be ice within ten minutes thanks to the elements,” the figure says, and her eyes widen.A smirk forms on her face. “It’s a bit rude to enter one’s house without knocking.”“I would say the same about intruding without being invited in.”
Relationships: Enjolras/Éponine Thénardier
Series: Ice and Fire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578265
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10
Collections: Enjonine Exchange 2019





	Bold As Fire

The stone structure she takes up residence in is cold and dark. Brown leaves are scattered across the floor, and traces of snow gather in the interior from gaps in the windows and holes in the roof.

She’s away, she’s hidden. A danger to no one but herself here.

There’s wood piled high in one corner near an old hearth, the floor in front of it black from the ash. There’s a ragged mattress of goose down against one wall with patched-up blankets. She finds a few bowls and cutlery in one of the corners of the stone floor.

Nothing here, with all the dust that’s gathered, appears to have been untouched for some time.

Eponine uses her coat to prevent the cold from seeping into her veins, any fire she attempts to make put out immediately by the melted ice from her abilities or by a gust of wind that sneaks in from the closed shutters. The blankets help, but only just enough for her to tolerate.

She thinks of the irony, the ability to manipulate ice and snow and she herself could nearly die from the temperatures such elements require to thrive.

Days pass. She survives.

She starts to develop a routine of going out in search of food during the day and returning when the sky turns into fiery hues. Most days, it’s whatever scraps she can find in the outskirts of Paris. The rare treat is when she manages to retrieve day-old bread from behind a bakery.

She’s in the middle of enjoying her daily catch when the creaking of the door disturbs her, and she makes out a figure in her periphery. She drops the bread on the mattress and gets to her feet, then with a lash of her hand, sends shards of ice in the intruder’s way.

She never hears the ice shatter, not against the wall, the figure, the floor. A small flash of light, and she just makes out water dripping onto the floor against the footsteps.

Another set of shards, and the same happens.

“If you keep doing that, this entire floor will be ice within ten minutes thanks to the elements,” the figure says, and her eyes widen.

A smirk forms on her face. “It’s a bit rude to enter one’s house without knocking.”

“I would say the same about intruding without being invited in.”

Enough of the moonlight catches the figure’s features from one of the holes in the ceiling, and while the memories of his face are a blur, the resemblance is too similar.

“This is all yours?” she asks. “Would have thought you in a fancy countryside manor or something of the sort.”

“I am permitted to my own decisions, mademoiselle.” His voice comes cold, perhaps harsher than intended.

“You haven’t been here awhile, given all the dust.”

“I have certain duties to attend to, but what those are, you know do not concern you.”

She makes out the motion of his hand towards the hearth, and a spark ignites the wood within she had tried to set fire to without success. The darkness alights, and she’s able to see him whole.

His eyes are deeper set than she faintly recalls, the circles underneath his eyes only increasing the effect from the flickering flames. His blond hair is pulled back, the edges almost gold in the firelight. His old maroon coat is patched at the elbows, and appearing to be in need of mending again in the near future.

The seriousness in his expression softens. “A pleasure to see you again, Thenardier.”

A small smile forms on her face and she moves toward him. She pauses right in from out him, one of her hands taking hold of one of his while the other brushes his face.

“It’s been too long, Enjolras,” she murmurs. “I’d almost forgotten you.”

“We know why that was.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “Only the feeling, never the explanation.”

His eyes flicker to the floor, and she lifts his chin to meet his gaze. He opens his mouth, as if trying to say more only to struggle with the words. But she leans forward before the words find him, her lips meeting his. All gentle, all soft, and a familiar and strange sensation all at once.

They part for breath, and his free hand moves to brush a strand of hair from her face.

“Never again,” he says, warmth in his silvery-blue eyes. “Never again.”

His lips press against her, and for the first time in what has been forever, she begins to feel warm again.


End file.
